Chapter Text
Did it matter how he found out? He couldn’t remember who told him, but in the dark room, lit only by a dimming fireplace, he held a small ring of gold in his hands.
Tubbo stared at the ring. It was small, because Ranboo wanted it to fit on his horn above the hair, so everyone would see it. Tubbo’s ring was much wider, so it could fit on his wider horns. The ring was the only thing they had given him when they told him.
Tubbo wanted to cry, but years of emotional trauma had dried up all his tears. He felt only pain, without any way to release it. His hand shook as he examined the ring.
Ranboo had forged it with Sam’s help. Tubbo never wanted to associate his ring with Sam. In fact, Tubbo never wanted to associate anything with Sam ever again. He was angry.
He was glad it was nighttime, nobody would come by to bother him until morning. He was dreading morning for a different reason, however.
Micheal.
Micheal was still only three. How the fuck do you explain to a three-year-old that their father won’t come home ever again? He won’t ever tuck him into bed, play with him, read to him, hold him, kiss him good night, love him .
All things Tubbo won’t get again either. Tubbo doesn’t want to go to bed, because he knows it will be too empty. Too cold. Too lonely.
But that will be true for the rest of the house as well. Ranboo was akin to a lifeline, he was able to help anyone through anything. But now, when Tubbo needed the most help, he was gone. The lifeline was cut.
And Tubbo was dying.
Tubbo never felt the first tears fall, only saw them through a film as they landed on the ring he cupped in his hands. He was so angry, but he didn’t know why. It wasn’t at Ranboo, he could never be angry at Ranboo. It was probably Sam, but it felt like more than that. He was angry at the world, angry at life, angry at death, who was his own mother, mind you, angry at whoever told him, angry at the ring, at his room, at his things.
Tubbo leaned back on the couch, letting his head hit the back. He sat, silently letting his tears fall and roll down his cheeks, soaking and staining his face. At least he’s not allergic to water, he thought bitterly.
He heard a thump from upstairs. Tubbo froze for a few seconds, before slowly getting off the couch to investigate.
He opened the door to Micheal’s room, to see the young zombie sitting on the floor, holding a small stuffed animal. The piglet looked up as Tubbo walked in.
“Whatcha doing, baby?” He spoke softly, kneeling in front of his son.
“I want papa to read me a story,” The three-year-old says quietly, mimicking his father’s tone.
Tubbo nearly starts crying again. “Oh, baby, come here,” He says, gesturing for Micheal to sit in his lap, to which Micheal complies, confused.
“Micheal, something really bad happened to your papa today,” Tubbo explains gently, trying with all his might to keep his composure in front of his son. “He won’t be coming home, okay?”
“Is he lost?” Micheal asks, not comprehending what Tubbo is telling him.
“Not quite, little one,” Tubbo is dreading the look on Micheal’s face when the child inevitably understands.
Micheal’s face turns worried. “Did papa get hurt?” He asks, voice soft.
Tubbo nods gently. “He got hurt really badly. He isn’t coming home.”
Micheal stares at Tubbo. Tubbo realizes that there is no sugarcoating or beating around the bush here, the only way to get Micheal to understand it so say what he himself has been dreading coming to terms with.
“Micheal, Ranboo was killed today, before he could come home. He- he died.” Tubbo was crying again, against all his best efforts. Micheal started crying into Tubbo’s shirt, but his face was worse than Tubbo could have imagined. The look of pure, heartbroken pain, that no child should ever have to experience.
Tubbo held him until he cried himself to sleep, and instead of putting the child in his bed, he quietly carried his son into his own room, laid him down, and laid next to him. Neither deserved to be alone tonight, or the nights that will follow.
Yet looking at his son’s peaceful face, Tubbo thought that maybe, just maybe, they would get through this together.